


when I watch the world burn

by essektheylyss (midnightindigo)



Series: darkest nights [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Nightmares, Other, so much fire symbolism, there is no comfort here it's just a nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightindigo/pseuds/essektheylyss
Summary: Post episode-87 nightmare. Not particularly spoilery, but spoiler warning implied."So much potential, in only a little spark."
Relationships: Astrid/Eodwulf/Bren Aldric Ermendrud
Series: darkest nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568455
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	when I watch the world burn

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this to "When I Watch the World Burn All I Think About Is You" because the minute I heard it I thought of Caleb. That and "Easy Days" which is for the third part of this little series.
> 
> This is just... really dark. I basically write as therapy, so... you know.

It is dark, so dark, but there is just a spark of flame amid his fingers, soft and bright and warm, and he knows that it will consume him if it catches.

_So much potential, in only a little spark_ , his teacher’s voice echoes in his skull, the words pounding like a migraine, and he lets the spark hit his palm, searing at its contact, and his entire body is wracked with flame, his spine arching backward as he screams, but the crackle of fire settles into a warm rhythm across his skin, and he sinks to the ground, still alight, but it is a warm pain, soft and dull, and he lets it take him, the tears falling from his eyes no match for the fire.

Hands fall on his shoulders, welcoming and whole and open, reaching to him with the heart of a flame, dark but warm all the same. Oh, there was so much potential here, but it had been discarded the moment he had fallen to his knees in front of his burning home, lost in time, lost to the void. 

Potential for belonging, he thinks, but the smiles on their faces are twisted in the crackling light, and their hands are too smooth to be real—their arms unscarred as though he doesn’t know them to dazzle with sparkling crystal. Their fingers may as well be clawed for how much he knows these hollow creatures to be monstrous.

But if they are monstrous, then isn’t he? 

He reaches to them, his skin still aflame, and they take his hands, helping him up from the ground. How he wishes to dance with them, and as soon as he imagines it, they pull him into a macabre waltz, the three of them graceful as an eagle, as dangerous as any knife. Their eyes are black as coal as they smile at him, but he cannot tear his own gaze from them, drinking in the soft lines of their faces.

He gives off the light that illuminates them, dancing with them, and the pain builds as they dance.

_So much potential_ , the voice comes again, and something in him turns to ice in spite of the heat. _Especially you, Bren._

His body trembles suddenly, violently, skittering across his bones and disrupting their movements, breaking the dance and their grasp on his clean wrists. As their hands pull away he sees the crystals embedded in their skin now, sees it in his own skin, and he screams again, the fire growing in strength where it touches them, columns of it dancing like a cat’s cradle, a web zigzagging from his fingers, catching the ground like lightning. That spark, so much potential, and it races across the dark earth before firing beneath the feet of his compatriots, a column of fire bursting to consume them each, one after the other, and he falls once again as he sees only their dark silhouettes encapsulated within the orange infernos.

His fingernails scrape across the earth as he crawls toward them, the fire dying, and it leaves only their shape behind, their twisted smiles captured even in ash. He reaches toward the smaller one, thinks, Astrid, and the moment his fingers reach the exterior, the ash scatters to the winds, closely followed by what quick work he has made of Eodwulf.

Screams echo in his head. He doesn’t know if they are his.

_So much potential. All of it, wasted._

He can feel the tears like a river now, sweeping him out to sea, caught in a current of his own making. Powerless to stop it, the fire and the water only scream into his skin, like magma building on his limbs. He can only crawl forward, the tears flowing from his eyes, and his vision is obscured when his hands find purchase on something—boots, smooth and pristine, and he clasps them tightly, uncaring to whom they might belong.

_Perhaps we can find a use for you, yet?_ the voice asks above him, and he can do nothing but sob and cling to the man, who took everything from him and left him with even less. Took his name, his home, his potential, his future—but perhaps he’s right. He holds all of these things over him now, and he can return them. 

It’s the easy answer, after all. 

_I will come back_ , he exhales hollowly, his voice as dead as his eyes—as dead as the ash behind him. _Let me come back._

_Not until you prove yourself, boy_ , comes the answer, and he can already feel the bile rising in his throat. He swallows it down. _You will prove yourself to me, and then you can have more than your pathetic life. You can have the world. ___

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Third and last part is coming tomorrow. It's not as dark as this, but that's not saying much.


End file.
